


All That Glitters

by cygnes



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Undercover, space booze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnes/pseuds/cygnes
Summary: Finn and Rose are tasked with an intelligence-gathering mission. It goes well in more ways than one.





	All That Glitters

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://manzanas-amargas.tumblr.com/post/168985451715/finnrose-infiltrate-yet-another-fancy-luxury) on tumblr, for the anonymous prompt "Finn/Rose infiltrate yet another fancy luxury planet in a more leisurely way and have mad fancy-dress canoodling."
> 
> Lilias Valerian was Hux's sister in a few fics I started post-TFA but failed to finish, before it was revealed in tie-in novels that he was a vengeful bastard (literally)… and she might still be his sister, who knows. Either way, she's ginger and a jerk and is Down 2 Clown with a couple of sexy mercenaries.

“I’m still not sure we’re the right people for the job,” Finn says.

“Last time, we were trying not to get noticed,” Rose says. The set of her mouth is grim as she sticks a pin through the little hat perched jauntily on her head. “Now getting noticed is the point. We’ll do fine.” She looks over at him and smiles a little. That’ll get them noticed, Finn thinks — a smile like that can light up a room. “Your tie is crooked,” she explains, reaching over to fix it. Once it meets her standards, she sticks another pin in it like the one in her hat. A flash of silver and opal to help make them look like they belong, plus a little extra. A transmitter. If the operation goes sideways, their backup will know immediately. If it goes _really_ sideways, there will be a record of any intel they pick up in conversation.

“Let’s go over it again,” Finn says. “We’re a couple of successful mercenaries with big ambitions.” 

“Looking for the kind of equipment that could take a small Outer Rim planet and keep it ours, come hell or high water. Or the First Order.” Rose’s lips are painted lavender. Her eyelashes are frosted silver. She looks like she should be in a holovid about the Old Republic, and it’s frankly intimidating.

“Because anyone selling firepower that could repel the First Order is probably also selling _to_ the First Order,” Finn recites. “If we’re lucky, they might have a planned rendezvous that the Resistance could crash.” 

“You know, I think that’s almost exactly what General Organa said?” Rose says. She sounds a little impressed. 

“I’m good at memorization,” Finn says. He means to say it matter-of-factly. It comes out a little rueful.

“Right,” Rose says softly. Then she’s all business again. “Close your eyes so I can put a little glitz on your eyelids.” He does. It’s an effort to keep his eyes closed against the unfamiliar feeling of the brush. “I’m Morn Yara. Started out guarding transports before I decided that wasn’t enough action for me.” 

“Hareen Darsh,” Finn says. “Former bounty hunter. I got bored with that and started taking other kinds of work. We got hired by the same warlord to take control of a waystation, but we liked each other more than we liked him, so we double-crossed him, and now that’s our base of operations.” 

“Yeah,” Rose says a little distractedly. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.” He does, and. Wow. If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t guess the people looking back at them in the long mirror are an ex-stormtrooper and a Resistance mechanic. And no one else here _does_ know better. “We should probably head down,” Rose says. “We don’t want to be late.” 

“We don’t want to be early, either,” Finn says. “Don’t want to seem too eager.” 

“That depends on Yara and Darsh,” Rose says. “What’s their priority? _Our_ priority.” She corrects herself immediately. “We’ve got one room, so we’re more than just business partners.” 

“Conquest partners, if all goes according to plan,” Finn says, trying for nonchalance. His heart is beating fast. He hadn’t thought about the room, since they won’t actually be sleeping there. They just had to be on the guest register in case anyone decided to verify their identities that way. Finn had thought of it more as a staging area. Somewhere to get ready. But to someone on the outside looking in…

“We’re here on business, but we wouldn’t have booked a room like this if it were just a business trip,” Rose goes on. The room is something that could be out of an old holovid, too: crystal and platinum, not transparisteel and alusteel. The real stuff. Plus a balcony overlooking the plaza out front, lit up like a lantern by the sunset reflecting off the façade of the hotel. Booking a room with a balcony facing the front of the building was a strategic choice, to watch the comings and goings — but it’s a hell of a view.

“Maybe it’s our anniversary. The anniversary of the double-cross, even,” Finn says. “Maybe Darsh is a romantic.” Rose smiles again.

“Maybe they both are,” she says.

___

There’s a woman at the bar who Finn recognizes from the files they were given. One of the Sonn-Blas executives. Her hair in the attached picture had been pulled back severely, but now it’s down around her shoulders.

“Redhead on your nine o’clock,” Finn says quietly. “I think the name was Aubert.” The Resistance uses Aurebesh. As good at memorization as he is, he’s still more used to High Galactic. 

“Auberg,” Rose murmurs back. “Sonn-Blas, right?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Do we want to work our way up to her, or start there?” Sonn-Blas is one of the First Order’s biggest suppliers. They might be willing to play both sides against the middle, but some of their executives are from ex-Imperial families. Auberg’s entry hadn’t had much on her background.

“Come on, Hareen,” Rose says, hooking one hand around the crook of his elbow. “Nothing ventured, as they say.” 

“Nothing gained,” Finn agrees. Rose sits right next to Auberg and Finn sits next to Rose. The bartender is multi-limbed, chitinous and iridescent. They blink several eyes as they present drink menus. The effect is something like a wink. “Anything you’d recommend?” The bartender, in Basic interspersed with clicking sounds, suggests a Topaz Lagoon. Auberg makes a derisive sound.

“Not a fan?” Rose says.

“The main ingredient is acvavite from Arkanis,” Auberg says. “Almost everything brewed or distilled there involves algae. Not to my tastes, but to each their own.” 

“I wouldn’t mind the taste of something green,” Finn says, nodding at the bartender. “Not like we get much of it out in the black.” He slings an arm around the back of Rose’s chair. “What about you, darling?” 

“Naboo Botanical, straight up,” Rose says, tapping the bar in front of her with two fingers.

“Girl after my own heart,” Auberg says, raising her glass. (And it _is_ glass, he’s pretty sure.) The liquid inside is a pale periwinkle that catches the light and throws it off in refracted rainbows. It’s close to the color of Rose’s lipstick. Finn thinks maybe that was intentional, though it could also be that she ordered the same drink as Auberg purely as a conversation starter.

“Are you from Naboo yourself?” Finn says. Auberg laughs and sweeps some of her hair back over one shoulder.

“Hardly. I was born on Arkanis, which is why I can’t stand acvavite. You never forget your first hangover.” 

“Cheers to that,” Rose says. She raises her glass as soon as the bartender sets it down. 

“Are both of you spacers?” Auberg says. “What’s that old saying — ‘born on a transport, raised in the black; if you cross me, I’ll cross you back’?”

“I’m from a Mid Rim rock,” Rose says. “Mostly gone now.” Her voice is hard as she says it. It’s true, after all.

“I only ever remember being in space,” Finn says. That’s true, too. All the best lies are built on something real. “Bounced around bases and stations, picked up what I could here and there.” 

“Hareen’s a man of many skills,” Rose says, angling her body toward him but not quite leaning against him. “He’s a poet with a blaster, for one.” Rose’s fleeting smile is for Finn’s benefit and not Auberg’s.

“I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without Morn,” Finn says. “Or at least not as far as I have. We run a station together.” 

“With an iron fist, I’ll bet.” Auberg looks at them, considering. “Are you two here on business or pleasure?” 

“Bit of both,” Finn says. “Yourself?”

“Oh, mostly pleasure,” Auberg says, tracing a finger around the edge of her glass a little coyly. “But I’m sure I could find time for a spot of business, here and there.” 

“Her next drink’s on us,” Finn says. This time he’s the one winking at the bartender.

“Lilias Valerian Auberg, at your service,” Auberg says, inclining her head.

“Morn Yara,” Rose says. “My partner here, in business and pleasure, is Hareen Darsh.” 

“Yara!” Auberg exclaims. “Any relation to the Corellian Yara family? I remember hearing about Han Yara running guns back in my mother’s day. She may have been working with the rebels, but my god, I always admired her.” 

“Han must be a common name on Corellia,” Finn says, trying to save Rose from having to answer what might be a loaded question. “I met a different Han. Just as illustrious, though.”

“Not _Solo_ ,” Auberg says, sounding almost awed. “Stars, that must have been something.” Her girlish enthusiasm catches Finn a little off guard. Rose’s expression is only hardening.

“We crossed paths,” Finn says. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Your name’s quite a mouthful,” Rose says to Auberg. “Imperial-sounding. Or is that just the way they do things on Arkanis?” 

“If I had a real Arkani name, it’d be even longer,” Auberg says. “I’d have two surnames. But my parents weren’t married, and my father didn’t want me, so I don’t have a patrilineal family name.” She leans toward them, conspiratorial, as a fresh glass of Naboo Botanical appears at her elbow. “I think he was probably an Imperial officer, and my given name was an attempt to impress him. Or at least that was what my mother wanted _me_ to think.” 

“Fuck the Empire,” Rose says. Finn puts a hand on her shoulder to warn her, to try to pull her back from what she’s about to jump into. She doesn’t shrug him off, but she keeps going. “Fuck the First Order. Fuck the Old Republic and the new one.” Not a bad position to take, after all those additions, Finn thinks, relaxing a little. Let Auberg think she’s dealing with people who are indiscriminately anti-establishment. 

“Cheers to that. Tchin tchin,” Auberg says, raising her glass. Rose mirrors the gesture and they clink their glasses together. Auberg drains her full glass at one go. Rose takes a long swallow. Finn sips his Topaz Lagoon, mildly uneasy. There’s a grassiness to it, but also something bright and citrusy. It tastes somehow clean. Fresh. Like he imagined water would taste from a planetside spring, back when he was shipbound, except it burns all the way down. “So you’re strictly looking to arm a private enterprise, is that right?” Auberg says.

“That’s it exactly,” Finn says.

“Such elegant cutthroats,” Auberg says. Her eyes follow the line of jewels affixed to the column of Rose’s throat, clinging to her skin like drops of water down to a fairly demure neckline that hits just below her collarbone. Finn’s collar comes up high, but Auberg’s gaze caresses the knot of his tie before coming to rest fixedly on his face. On the line of matching jewels sweeping under his eyes. A perfect match. The jewels are fake, and Auberg can probably tell, but their placement says something about Yara and Darsh. About Rose and Finn. It wouldn’t be saying the same thing if not for Finn’s arm across the back of Rose’s chair, his hand still on her shoulder, the way her body is angled toward him —

It takes longer than it should from him to realize what that means about the way Auberg is looking at them. _Both_ of them, together, because that’s what they’ve been telling her without saying so: it’s double or nothing. And what she’s been saying more directly, with her business-or-pleasure insinuations, is that she’ll be glad to have them both. She’s giving them an opportunity to get close, and better yet, a way to stay together. It’s safer for both of them and for the mission if they don’t have to split up. 

“I think we deserve more credit than that,” Finn says. “We’re entrepreneurs.” Auberg’s smile widens. The bartender goes for her glass and she waves him off. 

“That’s quite enough for now,” she says. “I’m going to head up, but if you want to continue our conversation, you’re welcome to stop by.” She slides an engraved alusteel card across the bartop. “I’ll be around for a few hours.” The card has a pattern of holes drilled through it, along with the words _Christophsis Suite_ in High Galactic. It’s a key. 

“We’ll settle up soon,” Rose says coolly. “I’m glad we met, Auberg.” 

“Please,” Auberg says, leaning in close enough that Finn can smell the pine in her shampoo. “Call me Lili.” 

___

They work out the details of their plan in the lift.

“Remember Ananja gave us that sedative,” Rose says. “The little patch. I say we slap that on her, talk to her until she falls asleep, and pull everything we can from the files on whatever portable servers she has with her.” 

“Do you think she will?” Finn says. “She said she’s not here on business.” 

“She’ll have something,” Rose says. “She has to. That high up in the company, she’ll never be able to leave her work at work.” Finn can’t tell if this is something she knows for sure or if she’s saying it because she needs it to be true.

“We’ll have to get pretty close,” Finn says. “To get the patch on without her noticing.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” Rose says.

And it isn’t. Not at all. Auberg is all soft, insinuating touches as she lets them in. It’s easy to return one of those touches, casually intimate — a hand on the back of her arm, smoothing the patch into place. Auberg seems to be planning a leisurely seduction, which works just fine for Finn, because he can sit across from her with his arm around Rose’s waist, and all he really has to do is smile warmly at Auberg.

“Your main problem is going to be with securing interplanetary trade,” Auberg says, eyelids starting to droop. “Taking over an isolated planet will be absolutely easy by comparison. You’re going to have to make a deal with someone if you plan to import anything of value. And depending on local resources, you may need to hook up with the Nghat corporation,” she says.

“Do you have contacts there?” Rose says. Auberg frowns.

“Yes, but — do you know — I can’t seem to remember any names just now? I promise, I’m usually better at holding my liquor…” she yawns.

“Maybe we should get you to bed,” Finn says.

“Oh, by all means,” Auberg says. Her come-hither smile is interrupted by another yawn. When she stands, they have to support her on either side. She’s entirely asleep by the time they get to the bedroom. She drops onto the coverlet like a sack of rocks when they set her down, and she makes only the tiniest noise of protest when Rose rips the sedative patch off the back of her arm.

Finn and Rose go about the rest of their work quickly. Auberg’s files are encrypted, but their own drive has protocols to force a copy that someone in the Resistance can decrypt at a later date. 

“We haven’t blown our cover,” Finn reflects as they’re getting ready to leave. “We could use these aliases again.” 

“Then I guess we’d better stay in character,” Rose says. She starts writing on the notepad on the nightstand and then pauses. “I don’t think this is flimsiplast. It might even be real paper.” 

“So take it,” Finn says. “Wouldn’t Yara?” Rose grins. She tears off the top sheet to leave for Auberg and tucks the notepad under her arm.

_Lili,_

_You fell asleep before we could get anywhere in business or pleasure. Probably just as well. I’m not sure I like to share._

_— M. Yara_

Instead of a postscript, Rose leaves a sticky lavender kiss. “I don’t think I’d mind being Yara again,” she admits.

“Me neither,” Finn says. Rose leans up and plants another kiss on his cheek.

“Good.”


End file.
